I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
Betty, Dublin Zoo’s longest resident and oldest chimp in human care, dead at 62 — rest in peace
Betty, the chimpanzee that had been at the Dublin Zoo for the longest and the oldest living chimp under human care, passed away last week at the age of 62. She was one of the zoo’s most cherished and well-known inmates.
A zoo blog article claims that Betty had age-related ailments that were impairing her quality of life, and the tough choice to end her life was made to spare her from suffering in the future.
Although it is heartbreaking to lose Betty, she enjoyed a lengthy life that exceeded the average lifespan of a chimpanzee in captivity. According to the zoo, she was also the oldest chimpanzee in human care at the time of her death.
Team leader Helen Clarke Bennett of Dublin Zoo, who has worked as a zookeeper since 1987 and has known Betty for many years, paid tribute to her.
In 1964, a West African chimpanzee named Betty made her way to Dublin. Bennett notes that Betty participated in archaic practices like “Chimp Tea Parties” and that the Dublin Zoo continued to operate in the “style of the early Victorian era zoos” throughout that period.
Betty saw major advancements in zoo standards throughout her decades-long confinement. For example, in the 1990s, the chimp habitat was transformed from a metal-barred concrete “pit” to an island with trees.
Bennett claimed to have known Betty since the zoo’s early years since Michael Clarke, Betty’s father, was looking after her at the time. The chimp was “always strong-minded,” according to him, and would not give up on her goals.
After Wendy moved in 1964, Betty’s best friend, Wendy, became an integral part of her life for the majority of it. One of the cutest pairs in the zoo was formed by the two monkeys.
“Wendy had a cheeky side, but Betty could hold her accountable!” Bennett penned the piece. “When Wendy was obstinately refusing to go outside while the habitat was being cleaned, Betty putting her arm around her to encourage her to go outside with the rest of the troop will always be one of my favorite pictures.”
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Betty and Wendy celebrated their 50th birthdays together in 2012 at the zoo. The zoo workers believed that Betty, who was devastated by Wendy’s death in 2014, wouldn’t be far behind.
She even managed to live on for a further ten years, rising to the rank of dominating female chimpanzee and earning the title of longest-serving inhabitant of the zoo.
Bennett stated that Betty experienced reduced kidney function and chronic arthritis in her latter years, which affected her weight and mobility. She was also under continuous wellness management.
They had to make the tough but humane decision to end the beloved chimp’s life after all medicinal and surgical alternatives had been tried. Even though Betty is no longer with us, she will always be cherished as a unique original and a zoogoer’s favorite for many decades to come.
“Although I am really saddened to bid farewell to a friend I have known since I was a young child, I am sure that Betty’s euthanasia was the right choice, ensuring that she didn’t suffer needlessly and preserving her dignity to the very end. That gives me a great deal of comfort,” Bennett wrote.
“Everyone here at Dublin Zoo as well as the many generations of visitors who were fortunate enough to know her will miss Betty terribly; there will never be another like her.”
Peace be with you, Betty. You lived a very long life, and it’s obvious that your loved ones and caregivers cherished you.
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